Through the Ages
by Willowmere
Summary: A short story focusing on characters from the ‘Anne’ books. This is my first L.M. Montgomery fanfic, so please feel free to comment. I’d love to know what you think!


Through the Ages 

A short story focusing on characters from the 'Anne' books.  This is my first L.M. Montgomery fanfic, so please feel free to comment.  I'd love to know what you think!

Disclaimer:  This story is based on the wonderful characters Lucy Maud Montgomery created.

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"Walter!  Walter!"

The boy replied not.  He was far removed from this world, oblivious to the woman's calls.  The pencil he held hovered over the pad of paper in his lap.  He stared up at the heavens with what some would think was an absent-minded stare and nothing more, but those persons' belief would have been erroneous.  His stare went beyond mortal boundaries.  His gaze wasn't limited to the realm of reality; he had found the vestibule between earth and unearthly.  He had been transported to a fantastical place, and his gray eyes gleamed with the sheer wonder they beheld.

The young woman wrapped a wool sweater around her son's shoulders.  Walter shivered, slipped his arms into the garment, and sighed, half-rapturously, half disappointedly.  Human touch had spoiled the remarkable moment and thrust him back into ordinary surroundings. 

The auburn-haired mother sensed that her son had returned to her and spoke again.  "Darling, you said you would come in a half an hour ago, but your stay out here has lasted beyond that.  It's growing late, and the air is colder that it was before."

The eleven-year old lad looked up at his mother with a happy shining visage.  "Mother, I just had to stay out here until it _came_ to me.  And it _did_ come—it truly did."

The woman sat down on the stoop next to Walter.  "What came to you, dear?"

"The kingdom within the stars," he said dreamily.  He was beaming with exultation, and his shining eyes were astral themselves.  "I've waited many gloamings just to catch a glimpse inside," he continued excitedly.  "I've steadily watched for the first peep of the North star."  He studied the heavens.  "I can't explain how, Mother, but I _knew_ it was the key to stellar enchantment, and I _knew_ tonight I would be allowed through the portal."

She had no doubt he knew.  He was one of the rare few whose keen unerring intuition transcended logic, perceiving things that had not been proven, and proving things that had not been perceived.  

Genuinely engrossed, the woman asked, "You were allowed in?  Are you sure you didn't enter the magical passageway of your own accord?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure," he eagerly replied.  "You see, I've seen the North star pop into view on countless occasions with nary a celestial aperture.  But I had a hunch tonight would be different—and it was!"  Suddenly, the beaming Walter gasped in dismay.  "Oh, no!  I should be writing a description of what I observed while I still remember.  Such visions aren't standard for the minds of mere men, and all that I've witnessed may soon disappear from memory."  With that said, he quickly began jotting down the remarkable sights.

Rilla smiled, and caressed the top of Owen Walter Ford's curls that were of the vibrant golden shade he had inherited from his Grandmother Leslie. 

Yes, he bore the name Owen, but when he had been very little, he had been greatly upset that he was solely called by that appellation.   One day, he had run to Rilla for some understanding on the matter.  "Mummy, why do we have two first names?" the cute five-year old had asked with a miserable countenance.  "The middle names must be _awfully sad because people never use them."  _

_That's not always the case_, Bertha Marilla had thought wryly, a grin tugging at her mouth.  It didn't surface, however.  "What do you suggest we do to make the middle name merry?" she queried in a serious voice.

"Mayn't you use Walter sometimes?  That way, it won't be lonely." Rilla had gladly obliged, and for the past six years, she had heeded his request, frequently interchanging the twain.

Mrs. Ford rose from her seated position and fixated her hazel eyes out towards the horizon, where the last vestiges of pink and gold kissed the dappled sea farewell.  A cool sweet breeze laced with white dandelion fluff tangled wisps of her russet locks.  The air was bursting with the aroma of heavenly flowers.  Crickets joyfully chirped their rhythmic melodious song, and frolicking flashes of yellow lights were fireflies, come out to dance to their delightful tune.  

Rilla sighed ruefully. The splendor of the fading dusk was bittersweet for her.  It was a reminder that the person who had most reveled in this gorgeous milieu was not around to share it with her.  "How I desperately wish you were here, dear brother," she whispered emotionally.  "I miss our walks, and talks, and . . . _togetherness_."  Rilla glanced down at Owen, who was busily involved in his writing.  "He's so much like you," she said in a low voice, a lump burning in her throat.  "You and he would have an incredible bond."

"Mother, are you all right?" Owen asked with concern.  He had paused from his work when he had heard her hushed utterance.  Upon facing her, he was struck with compassion for Rilla, whose expression was a mixture of dolor and pining.

"Yes. I'm fine, sweetheart," she answered shakily.

"Were you thinking about . . . Uncle Walter?" the perceptive boy inquired.

"Yes, I was," she replied.  "I was regretting that he wasn't present, and thinking of how very much you resemble him.  You two from the race of Joseph would have been extremely close."

"If . . . if only he were with us," her child said softly in a sorrowful tone.

Rilla clenched her fists.  "He _is with us," she asserted with flaming eyes, her vim and spark returning after her brief bout of melancholy.  "He's with us as long as we hold sacred his ideals, and treasure the values he so valiantly fought to keep intact.  He's with us as long as we maintain what is good, and right, and _pure_.  He's with us as long as you, your siblings, and children everywhere laugh, play, and dream dreams.  He's with us as long as the doors to imagination are never locked, and the beauty he sorely cherished is never taken for granted.  If we remember these things, he will live among us through the ages."_

His mother's inspiring words had touched Owen deeply.  He leapt up and hugged Rilla tight.  "Oh, Mother, all that you said is correct.  You can count on me to keep his spirit alive.  He and all the other brave men won't be forgotten.  I will _not let all they did be in vain," he ended emphatically and sincerely._

'I will _not_ let all they did be in vain.'  The determined, dedicated sentence echoed ominously in Rilla's mind.  There was a dark chilling shadow behind those words, a shadow that clutched at Rilla's soul and slowed the beating of her heart.  Then, just as quickly as this queer feeling had rippled over her, it vanished, and the only feeling that gripped her was one of pride at the vow her loyal unwavering son had made.  "I have the utmost confidence in you, sweetie," she said lovingly.  He would 'keep faith,' as was the duty of all the tenants of this changed planet, a planet forever changed because evil had struck and been defeated by invulnerable courage and steadfast vigor.  

As they walked into the house, Owen said, "When Mrs. Grant visited last week, we were talking about how your delivery of  "The Piper" is exceptionally beautiful.  May you recite it to me before I go to bed?"

"Of course I will, darling.  Of course."

The End 


End file.
